


A Promise

by firebird_writings



Series: Di'kut In Command [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Conditioned Child Soldiers in Adult Bodies, Dead Troopers, Dumbass In Command, It's Clones, Mention of Decommissioning, Mention of Reconditioning, Post-Battle, Survivor Guilt, What Did You Expect, dead clones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26343898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firebird_writings/pseuds/firebird_writings
Summary: Portia, a freshly knighted Jedi, must come to terms with losing her battalion of clone troopers during her first battle.
Series: Di'kut In Command [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914274
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be gentle with Portia, she's young and stupid

She wasn’t sure she would ever get the smell out of her nose. Her clothes would find their way to a garbage incinerator, and if push came to shove she would cut her hair. But what she should do if the smell stayed in her nose, Portia didn’t know.  
  
It wasn’t so much the smoldering plastisteel. That smell was… unpleasant, but manageable. It was the burnt flesh underneath. She had never known that burnt flesh smelled sharp and bitter while also being concernedly sweet. It was a nausea-inducing smell and she needed every little bit of willpower to not puke her guts out.  
  
The rain that had decided to grace the battlefield did not make things easier. First Portia had been silently thanking the Force for it because she had thought that the water would dilute the smell, but the only thing it had done was adding the smell of mud to it.  
  
She bit down a whimper, gripped her knees harder, and tried to curl up even more into herself. She already was a tight ball of miserableness but even that didn’t seem to be enough. She couldn’t do what she wanted; she couldn’t vomit, or scream, or cry. Or all of it. There were still two troopers alive, and she couldn’t let them see her like that.  
  
Portia was their General, after all.  
  
And what a General she was! Two troopers, that was what was left of her battalion of fifty. She had led fifty clones into battle, and only two of them had made it out alive.  
  
She glanced to the side, at them, where they had made themselves as comfortable as possible in their corner of the small hollow underneath some ancient trees. There almost was an invisible barrier between Portia and the two clones. Part of her knew that it was because she was the General, the superior. They gave her space because of that. But another part, an insistent and ugly part, was telling her that they couldn’t stand being near her because she had basically killed their brothers.  
  
Because that was what she had done. There was no excusing that. They had only been the reinforcement, the group that was tasked with making sure nobody would attack from the side. It was an easy enough mission for a newly knighted General, right? Wrong. What was supposed to be a calm and simple task had ended in a bloodbath.  
  
And it was Portia’s fault.  
  
“General?”  
  
It took her a lot of energy to lift her head from her knees and look at the clone who had called for her. When she managed that, she saw that he was holding a water pack, offering it to her. The unspilled tears threatened to roll over the edges of her eyes.  
  
“No, thank you”, she croaked out with an almost not wobbling voice. Good enough.  
  
“It’s… it’s important to stay hydrated, sir”, the trooper said, his tone of voice implying that he would be stubborn about it. Portia hesitated for a moment; they shouldn’t waste their precious rations on her. The clone in front of her looked exhausted and beat, but apart from a few singe marks on his armour he seemed fine. Still, he needed his rations more than she did. So she said:  
  
“I’m fine. Thank you, though.” She used her best dismissive tone, the one she had perfected for whenever her late master had thought he should treat her like a child when she had been in fact been almost grown-up.  
  
The trooper took the hint and backed up, sitting beside his comrade again. That one was worse off. He was bleeding from a head wound and was cradling his left arm.  
  
And it was Portia’s fault. 

  


Every once in a while Portia did a mental sweep of the area. She was very attuned to the signs of life in the Force, feeling them as little pin pricks in her mind, little light sources in the darkness of her surroundings.  
  
She found none.  
  
The only beacons of life light in her head were the two troopers beside her. Humanoid life, that was. She could feel the vegetation and the fauna, too, but she wasn’t concentrating on that. She pushed those away for now.  
  
She let her mind wander carefully over the battlefield, scanning for life.  
  
She found none.  
  
She hadn’t done that before the battle. She hadn’t once felt the presence of her battalion in the Force. Had not deemed it important. She had pushed away their lights together with those of the native lifeforms, opting to ignore them in favour of enemies.  
  
And now they were gone. She felt the absence of their life more than she had felt their presence. It sickened her. Especially since the two surviving clones were so… different.  
  
“Do you have names?” The question left Portia’s mouth before she had even thought about it completely. She glanced at the two troopers. Both looked at her with surprise, then the one who had offered her his water, replied:  
  
“No, General.”  
  
“What’s your numbers, then?”  
  
They looked at each other, clearly perplexed and a bit uneasy about the sudden interest in them.  
  
“CT-5623, sir.”  
  
“CT-3458”, the injured trooper said before wincing. They had no medic, and no medical supplies at hand. And Portia had never been good at the healing arts. She felt even worse when she thought about her lackluster attitude towards that branch of the Force back then.  
  
“Thank you”, she said quietly. It didn’t change a thing, that she now knew who the two survivors were. There were still 48 troopers who she would never know. Because she had been a dismissive bitch. “I’m sorry.”  
  
The silence that followed her apology was deafening.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“I’m sorry”, she repeated, looking straight forward, out onto the battlefield. “I should have asked earlier. I should have...” There were many things she should have done. She closed her eyes.  
  
“Are you alright, General? Is it possible that you have a concussion?”  
  
A concussion. Because she apologized to the men she had led into battle and let down. It was… oddly fitting. She had not bothered to recognize her troops as people. Why should she start now? She could understand why CT-5623 was confused.  
  
“I’m alright”, she nodded, and did another sweep. Still no life signs. The universe was missing 48 life signs because Portia was a crappy General. “I need to ask you two a favour, though. May I?”  
  
She didn’t look at the two clones, didn’t dare to, but she knew that they shared another look.  
  
“… Of course, sir. You don’t have to ask. Just give us orders.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I need you two to train me.”  
  
That’s what Portia had asked of her two remaining troopers on the edge of her first battlefield. And they had agreed. Reluctantly, of course, since it was an odd request from a General. But it had turned out that they were very enthusiastic teachers.  
  
23 had insisted that they should start with basic exercises, and Portia had learned that she was not as athletic as she had thought she was. Because 23 had forbidden her from tapping into the Force.  
  
“How do you rely on your own strength if you don’t know it?”  
  
That sentence had struck something in Portia. She was used to relying on the Force for things. Not just when physical strength was involved. That was what she had been taught in the Temple.  
  
And it was useful, there was no doubt about it.  
  
But…  
  
23 was right. She didn’t know what she could or couldn’t do without using the Force. She had been taught that the Force was all-encompassing but by relying on her connection to it she had never had the chance to hone her own strengths that had nothing to do with the Force.  
  
It was very challenging to not call upon Force support, especially when the two clones started getting into the mind frame of proper coaches. It had taken them some time before they had stopped being overly polite and reserved. But once they got over it, Portia was in for it.  
  
They made her go for a run every morning, 23 accompanying her. 58 was still healing and Portia had insisted that he would sit this one out. To make up for it, he was very strict when it came to shooting practice. And both were adamant about teaching her hand-to-hand combat.  
  
“Come on, keep your arms up!”  
  
That was easier said than done. 23 was decking her with punches, absolutely not holding back. And Portia had become quite tired. Her two troopers wouldn’t let her rest for more than a few minutes after an exercise before they got her doing another one. Her muscles were stronger now than they had been a month ago, but she had nothing on the unwavering durability of the clones. Her limbs were shaking.  
  
But she didn’t want to disappoint them. She had let them down once, it would not happen again. Especially not if it was something as trivial as trembling muscles.  
  
“Yeah, good one”, 58 praised her when she managed to get through 23’s defense and landed a punch against his rips. “Get away from him!”  
  
Portia jumped back just as 23 made a grab at her. They were talking this at her insistently; don’t let your opponent grab you; you’re small and very breakable, don’t let your opponent pin you down. Thankfully she was quite good at evading the grasping hands.  
  
She didn’t notice the fist coming her way from the left, though. Not in time. With a growl she tried to bring up her right arm to block the punch, elbow outwards. It was bad form, she knew that. But she had no choice.  
  
The hit hurt like hell. She yelled in pain and the stinging sensation travelled up her arm like an electric charge. But that wasn’t the bad thing. The bad thing was that 23 used her distraction and looped his right arm through hers, hand grasping her shoulder. With a quick kick to the side of her knee and his body weight, he sent her to the mat.  
  
For a moment Portia couldn’t breathe, the impact of her back onto the admittedly not very thick mat had knocked the breath out of her.  
  
“Are you alright, General?”  
  
When she looked up at 23, she saw concern on his face. She noticed that he was propping himself up over her with his left arm. He hadn’t even used his full body weight to bring her down. Yeah, Portia understood why they were insisting that she did not let her opponent grab her.  
  
“Yes, I’m okay”, she nodded. He let her go with a nod. Groaning she sat up and then rubbed her elbow. It still tingled all the way up to her shoulder. And her back was sore.  
  
“You’re getting better”, 58 said and came over to them. “But never put your elbow up like that. Keep you arms tight, close to your body.” Portia nodded and hummed in affirmation. She might have done it right if her reflexes were better. But she had promised them to not use the Force in training.  
  
“What should I do when I get grabbed?”, she asked. Up until now they had just made clear that she should not let that happen. But as it were, it could very well happen. 58 sat down beside 23, who was still kneeling where he had flattened her. Portia looked at the two of them, so similar to each other and yet so different.  
  
“There are a number of things you could’ve done”, 23 replied. “Not all of them are good form.” He looked at his brother, raising his eyebrows. It was clear that he was debating whether or not to show Portia dirty fighting.  
  
“In a real fight fairness gets tossed out pretty soon”, 58 shrugged. “And I doubt that the General will still grow a lot. Go ahead, tell her.” Portia sent a flat look 58’s way, at which he just grinned. She was so grateful that he no longer feared her. He had taken to teasing her quite well, which she appreciated. 23 was a bit more straight-laced but Portia could tell that he had grown more comfortable around her, as well.  
  
“Your best bet in such a situation”, 23 gestured between him and her after a small pause, “would be to wrap your legs around me. If you had done that, the additional weight and the shifted momentum would have sent me to the ground, as well.”  
  
Portia pondered that for a moment. It made sense, but…  
  
“No way out of an aching back?”  
  
“No.” 23 shook his head. “Not once you’re gripped and thrown.” Portia nodded, deep in thought. She should really work on her evasion skills.  
  
“Sir, can I ask you something?”  
  
She looked up almost too late to see the warning look 23 sent 58. Hm, so it was something they thought she wouldn’t take well. Or something they were simply curious about but didn’t have anything to do with their roles as soldiers. They were careful with those questions, as well. It hurt her to see it. They were wary to ask innocent questions. It hurt deep in her heart.  
  
“Of course”, she nodded, pointedly ignoring the silent conversation the two clones had made. As far as she was concerned, they could ask her any question they liked.  
  
“How...” 58 scratched the back of his head, a sign that he was unsure about how to proceed. The past month had been a good opportunity to pick up on some of their habits. “How did you manage to get off-time?”, he blurted out. “I mean, for us”, he added almost shyly.  
  
Huh?  
  
Oh.  
  
Portia closed her eyes and sighed internally. High Command had insinuated that CT-5623 and CT-3458 should have been re-deployed some time ago. Portia had understood it as the subtle hint that she had had enough recuperation time. Apparently she had been about fifty miles off. But…  
  
If High Command’s remark hadn’t been about Portia’s tardiness, which she had requested from the Jedi Council and been generously granted, that meant that they had tried to tell her that the two troopers would be sent to other battalions, since Portia had no battalion, anymore.  
  
Oh.  
  
“Fuck”, she exclaimed, to the amusement of 58 but to the scrutinizing glare of 23. She stood up hurriedly. “I have to cut today short”, she rushed to say. Now both clones raised their eyebrows at her. “I’m sorry. But I have to attend to some business!” 

  


23 and 58 found her outside the temple a few hours later, approaching Portia with a caution she had thought they had left behind. She had sat herself down on the ground, leaning on one of the stone benches, trying to meditate. First she had tried in one of the meditation rooms but the air had been too stuffy for her to be able to relax. Sure, fresh air on Coruscant wasn’t fresh, at all, but it was better. But she still had not found the peace of mind to actually meditate. So she had opted to just pretend, and think.  
  
23 cleared his throat and when Portia opened her eyes she saw that both troopers were looking at her sheepishly. She could feel the guilt radiating from them clearly.  
  
“Sir? Sorry to interrupt...” 23 looked like he might have shuffled his feet if not for his military drill.  
  
“You’re not interrupting”, she replied readily and smiled tightly. “What do you need?” The two clones shared a look, then 23 said:  
  
“We wanted to check in with you, Sir. You were in a hurry when you left. We...”  
  
“We were afraid that we did something wrong”, 58 blurted out when 23 seemed to be at loss on how to say it.  
  
Portia’s heart clenched. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.  
  
“No”, she said softly when she opened them again. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” Both of them lost some of the tension that was holding their bodies hostage. “I just remembered something I should have done before.” She had been a right idiot, to be honest. For the second time in honestly not enough time she had realized that she was not equipped to be a General. She had let down her troops during the battle, and then she had done it again by being dismissive.  
  
Again.  
  
Portia sighed deeply and then patted the ground beside her.  
  
“Please, sit”, she smiled at the two clones, who hesitated only a second before complying. When they were seated, she continued: “Before you asked me about your leave, it hadn’t occurred to me that I should’ve put in the request for you to stay with me a while ago.” While they had not only taught her some fighting techniques but also military strategy, nobody had ever prepared her for the bureaucracy of an army. Once she had realized her mistake, she had just wanted to hit her forehead against the nearest wall. “So I caught up on that today. I also requested a manual with all the necessary proceedings”, she added. “I don’t want to miss doing something important again.”  
  
“You want to keep us?” 23 sounded like she had just revealed the most wondrous thing to him. Doing her best to keep the tears at bay that were fighting their way to the surface, she nodded.  
  
“Of course. I don’t want anyone else as my commanding officers.”  
  
Whatever Portia had expected to be her two troopers‘ reaction, it wasn’t the quickly rising panic that she felt from them. There was nothing in their faces to indicate their changing mood but internally they were freaking out.  
  
She had made another mistake.  
  
“What? What did I do?” She looked from 23 to 58, and back.  
  
She hated, hated, hated this! Whatever she did, she was making mistakes left, right, and center!  
  
“Please tell me what is agitating you two”, she requested more gently when they didn’t answer her question. “Do you not want to stay with me? It’s okay if that is it. You can say it.” She wouldn’t want herself as her General, either.  
  
“No, sir!” 23’s eyes widened, which made him look like a startled rabbit. Which was quite a feat, he was the most un-rabbit like person Portia had ever met. “That’s not… we would love to stay with you!” He looked to 58, who nodded frantically. “But… we’re both not supposed to be commanding officers, sir. We don’t have CC numbers”, he added as if that was an important fact to relay to her. It probably was but Portia didn’t know why.  
  
She tilted her head, nodding slowly to indicate that she had heard him and was trying to understand.  
  
“You both were brave and level-headed during…” She couldn’t say it. There was a knot in her stomach that threatened to burst if she tried to talk to the clones about their dead brothers. She had let down those 48, but now she would do everything in her power to take care of the remaining two. “You both were what I would want as my officers. I trust the two of you.”  
  
“We’re not meant to be commanding officers, sir”, 23 repeated.  
  
“Does that matter?”, Portia asked. “I want you as my Commander, and you”, she addressed 58, “as my Captain.”  
  
Her words had a different impact on them. 58 looked at her with a frown, looking thoughtful. He seemed to be wondering whether their numbers really mattered if their General wanted it that way. 23 on the other hand was looking at his feet and it seemed like he was barely resisting wringing his hands.  
  
“Please don’t do this, General”, 23 finally said quietly.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“It’s not what we’re supposed to be. It’s not our designation. Best case scenario, the Kaminoans claim we’ve been labeled incorrectly and demand more pay retroactively.”  
  
Oh. That was… very capitalistic.  
  
“If that’s the best case scenario”, Portia said slowly, “then what is the worst case?” She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know. Not with how her two troopers had reacted. But she needed to know. She couldn’t afford overlooking it.  
  
The emotion she could now feel from them wasn’t exactly panic, or fear. It was bone-deep dread. She didn’t like it, she didn’t like it one bit.  
  
“Reconditioning”, 23 replied after a moment of hesitating that seemed to last an eternity. “Or decommissioning.”  
  
Both didn’t sound appealing, even though Portia knew no details. If those two words filled her clones with this emotion, then she would do whatever she could to spare them this fate.  
  
“Reconditioning is a process that faulty clones have to go through”, 58 explained with unease in his voice. “The ones who are just… I don’t know, not within the parameters but otherwise fit for service.”  
  
This all but clear explanation raised Portia’s hackles. She closed her eyes for a moment. She knew that the Kaminoans saw the clones only as products, not as people. She knew that the Republic was buying them as such. But hearing it implied to bluntly was different.  
  
“And decommissioning?”  
  
“The ones who are unfit for service, for many different reasons, are decommissioned.”  
  
“What does that mean?” She had an idea what it meant. But she needed to hear it. She needed to acknowledge it.  
  
“They are killed.”


	3. Chapter 3

She had apologized for causing them concern, and had promised to not request them to be her commanding officers. They had been incredibly relieved.  
  
It made her want to weep.  
  
And that’s what she did this night in her quarters. She was mindful to not project her emotions too strongly but other Jedi probably still felt her distress. If her Master was still alive, he would’ve rushed to her door already, she was sure. But he wasn’t, so Portia was all alone in her agony.  
  
She liked it better this way. It was bad enough that she was disturbing others, there was no need for anyone to feel obligated to comfort her. She should have a better grip on her emotions, anyway. Not even Padawans were supposed to wet their pillows with tears, anymore. Nevermind a Jedi Knight. A General.  
  
But the tears just didn’t seem to stop. She suspected that she wasn’t crying only because of today. She cried for the 48 lost lives, those bright lights she had dismissed as unimportant. And she cried for all those other brothers the clones had lost already, and would lose in the future. Nobody knew how long the war would last, how many soldiers would be wounded or killed. How much pain there would be until somehow peace was reached.  
  
Portia sat up, getting her knees under her, and slipped out of bed. She wobbled a bit on her feet, dehydration and a splitting headache not very good for her balance. With a deep breath she pressed her fingertips to her temples and willed the pain away. Of course that was not how it worked, but it was worth a try, right? She blinked against the dim light that came through her windows, the transparisteel very good at letting in the always busy lights of Coruscant without letting in the less than great air. The barracks were several storeys beneath the temple, even on a different level, if she was remembering correctly. She wondered if 23 and 58 had any light that wasn’t artificial in their rooms. If any of them had.  
  
She peeled her tongue off her palate, trying to collect enough spit to make the muscle malleable. In the end she went to the bathroom and drank some water directly from the tab. That was a habit her Master had tried to put a stop to but he had been unsuccessful. She found that if the chemicals in the water were harmless enough to brush her teeth with, then she could also drink it. And if the water ended up killing her, then at least she wouldn’t have to fight this war to its bloody end.  
  
After she was sure that she could talk, should she wish to, she slipped into her morning robe. Nobody who wasn’t a Jedi themselves would notice that she was wearing her pajamas and not some usual Jedi robes, anyway. For good measure she closed the robe with her belt instead of the fabric strip that was meant for that. It was good enough.  
  
She slipped out of the temple unseen by anyone but the guards, who didn’t even ask questions. She was grateful for that. She really wouldn’t have wanted to explain what brought her out of bed after crying her eyes out. She also didn’t want to explain where she was headed. The guards probably sensed it, and left her alone because of it. So she made her way down to the streets and then to the troop barracks undisturbed.  
  
A few clones who were on leave were still milling about, some a bit drunk, some herding those back to the barracks. A few had Coruscanti company. All clones who saw her tensed, most likely expecting to be reprimanded for something. As if Portia would ever begrudge them a bit of harmless fun to celebrate that they were still alive. But they didn’t know that. They just saw a Jedi who was on their turf, and it made them uncomfortable.  
  
Maybe she should’ve waited till tomorrow. Stupid her. In her eagerness to solve the problem, she had dismissed the clones once again. Of course they didn’t want her, a Jedi General, wander around their place. Of course they would want their peace and quiet from anyone who was not a brother.  
  
With a sigh Portia approached a clone who was steadying another one. She was here, there was no use in going back now.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Ma’am!” The clone who was not dead on his feet attempted to stand straight but that was rather difficult when you had another being half-way slung around you.  
  
“Please”, she hurried to say, “at ease.” She tried a reassuring smile but probably failed because of the hammering pain behind her eyes. “Would you please point me to CT-5623 and CT-3458? I promise they’re not in trouble”, she added when the clone frowned in concern. She could feel his unease clearly and it stung that even her reassurance did nothing to calm him down. But she didn’t know what else she could say to appease the clone.  
  
“They are on the third floor, ma’am”, he answered eventually, adjusting the weight of his half-asleep brother. “03-092, I think. Maybe 093.” Portia nodded with a hopefully genuine smile.  
  
“Thank you”, she said, ignoring the surprised look she got from the trooper.  
  
“You’re welcome, ma’am”, the clone replied automatically. 

  


The barracks were pitiful. Portia was walking through the longest corridor she had ever seen, her head lifted to watch the numbers on the walls going by as she walked past them. There were no windows here, for on the left side were bathrooms and on the right side were the numbered side corridors.  
  
She peered into corridor 67 when she passed it, and she shuddered when she couldn’t see the end of it. Were the windows on the other end?  
  
“Ma’am?”  
  
A clone had turned the corner and was now looking at her with a flat face. But she felt that he was quite startled. No wonder. Civilians weren’t allowed in the barracks – if that rule was followed or not was not Portia’s business – and somehow she couldn’t imagine that another Jedi had been here before.  
  
“I’m sorry for intruding”, she said with an apologetic smile. This clone was wearing only his blacks, he surely hadn’t expected to have to deal with a Jedi. “I’m searching for CT- 5623 and CT-3458. They’re...” Oh dear, it was very very likely that every clone in existence knew about what she had done. How could they not? But she had to own up to her mistakes, there was no way around it. “They’re mine”, she completed softly, and hoped that it would be audible that she was not trying to put ownership on them.  
  
“Ah”, the clone said in acknowledgment. Portia could hardly look at him, feeling weighed down by her shame. “They are in corridor 092”, he said in a clipped tone. “The only occupied room is 012.”  
  
Ouch.  
  
This one did not pull his punches. But Portia couldn’t expect him to. As far as he knew, she was the person whose fault it was that he had 48 brothers less. He deserved to be as unforgiving as he liked.  
  
“T-thank you”, she nodded and then hurried along, hoping that her guilty blush hadn’t been that noticeable. More than anything she hoped that one day she would get the chance to make it up to the clones. She knew that she would always be in their debt for taking their brothers from them, but maybe – if she worked really hard and was unbelievably lucky – she could try and pay them back one day.  
  
The light was even colder in the side corridors, and the further Portia walked into it, the worse it got. Her headache didn’t like the hue of the light, either. She felt like she was swallowed by a grey monster without end. Her hand was shaking when she knocked on the door with the little 12 on it.  
  
After a moment the door opened with a swish and she was looking into 58’s face. His tired expression quickly morphed into one of incredulity when he saw who had been knocking on his door at an ungodly hour.  
  
“S-sir?”  
  
“I’m sorry that I’m disturbing you”, Portia began, sighing deeply. “Would you and 23 be okay with talking to me?” 58 blinked at her for a very long moment – stupid Portia, they probably had been asleep, like normal people! - then he nodded, and stepped aside.  
  
“Sure, sir. Please.”  
  
With a thankful smile Portia entered the bunk room. And took a double take.  
  
The room was stuffed full with three-storey bunk beds, shoved together until not even a piece of flimsi would fit between them. On the walls were padded metal racks, two of which were stacked full of armour. For some reason this hit Portia hard; they had all the space in the world, being the only two occupants of this room, but the two sets of armour were placed accurately and neatly on a rack each.  
  
Her eyes were drawn to movement further down the row of beds on the far left. 23 was scrambling out of it, trying to detangle himself from a blanket that already looked itchy. Were all rooms like this? They must be. This was the standard of the GAR. Thin mattresses on small frames that were squished together, and itchy blankets.  
  
“Sir, is something wrong?” 23 looked even more disheveled than 58, whose hair was sticking up in every direction.  
  
“I...” Suddenly she couldn’t remember a word she had wanted to say. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath, shoving away the feelings that were not necessary for this conversation. Then she addressed both her troopers: “I want to say that I’m truly sorry for scaring you earlier. That wasn’t what I wanted. I’m also sorry that I didn’t know that it would scare you. I should know such things, I’m your General. No, please”, she hurried to say when 23 opened his mouth, probably to reassure her that she was doing more than fine, “I’m not adequate. I know that now. Thanks to the two of you I’ve become better, but I still have a lot to learn. And I want you both to be there to teach me. I want you as my commanding officers; but as things are, that’s not gonna be possible. Not officially.” She looked into the dark eyes of 23, then into the lighter eyes of 58. Both of them didn’t seem to get what she was hinting at. So she continued:  
  
“I know I will be assigned a Commander. And I don’t intend to throw him under the speeder. But I want a second Commander, even if it’s just gonna be within the battalion.” She could feel confusion from 23 as she looked at him expectantly, then slowly the confusion melted into disbelief.  
  
“Sir… are you”, he looked at her like she was the first ever person he saw, “implying...”  
  
Portia took pity on him.  
  
“That I want you to be my unofficial Commander? Yes.”  
  
“Sir, I can’t possibly...” 23 seemed lost for words, his eyes darted around insecurely. His confused face was quite endearing. Portia smiled.  
  
“No matter, what”, she said, “I want you to be the vod in charge.” 23’s eyes snapped back to her, wide as saucers. They had taught her some Mando’a, mainly swear words. But also words that were important to them. She knew she was playing unfairly now.  
  
“Oh, that is good!” 58 chuckled lowly. “I like it! Vod in Charge!”  
  
“Quiet”, 23 snapped at his brother, but the slight blush on his cheeks was unmistakable. “General”, he addressed Portia, “I feel honored that you would even consider me for such a position. But I can’t agree to that, sir. I was never meant for command, so even if it wasn’t a clear break of regulations, I wouldn’t do a good job.”  
  
“I don’t care.” Portia shrugged. “I don’t care about the regulations, and I don’t care about what you were told you can do. I’ve gotten to know you, and I firmly believe that you will do a good job as my vod in charge!”  
  
“Sir...” 23’s blush deepened.  
  
“Come on, Vic”, 58 grinned. He walked to his brother and slung his arm around his shoulders. Said brother looked at him flabbergasted. “Your General is giving you a job, brother! You can’t deny her. Look at her”, he gestured at Portia. “She came here in what probably are her greys. And all to tell you that she wants you to be her Commander!”  
  
“Stop it”, Portia’s new Commander hissed. “You should be backing me up, not her!” At that 58 laughed outright.  
  
“What can I say? I think the General is right!”  
  
“See”, Portia smirked, “even you own brother thinks you would be a good Commander. Don’t you think he should know best?”  
  
23 – No! – Vic looked from Portia to 58 and back again.  
  
“You are both insane”, he then said. Portia’s heart swelled a bit, knowing that he was comfortable enough with her to say that. “You”, he gave Portia a pointed look, “are a mad woman! And you”, he glared at 58, “are a terrible enabler!”  
  
There was a moment of silence, only one or two seconds, then…  
  
“Oooh!” 58 began jumping up and down like an excited kid. “That’s a good name!” He was grinning like someone had just given him the best news of his life. Portia couldn’t help but smile, too, his joy was so palpable. Vic looked at him fondly. “I’m Abe”, he said with wonder in his voice. He pulled Vic into a hug that was reciprocated with enthusiasm.  
  
Portia looked at them, finally a feeling akin to peace settling in her stomach. She still had much to learn, still had a lot to make up for. But… she wasn’t alone in this. And her two troopers were happy, at least now, in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can guess which clone I had in mind in the barracks, then I will write you a oneshot of your choosing!


End file.
